Like I Do
by Coradea
Summary: He thought he saw someone walking up the stairs, moving out of sight just before John could properly look. "This is excactly the part where the sidekick goes up the stairs, meets the ghost and gets killed. Well, if this was a movie anyway."
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Like I Do

**Disclaimer: **Don't own.

**Summary: **He thought he saw someone walking up the stairs, moving out of sight just before John could properly look. _This is excactly the part where the sidekick goes up the stairs, meets the ghost and gets killed. Well, if this was a movie anyway._

**A/N: **Halloween is almost here and I couldn't help myself. The second part will be here tomorrow or the day after.

**Like I Do**

* * *

"What do you mean you can't open the door?" John shouted an run past the lanky detective to pound on the door and furiously try to push it open. The door was cold under his hands and he could feel distant pain in his knuckles from where the harsh wood had broken skin.

"Just as I said, the door won't open, neither will the windows for that matter", Sherlock's usually calm and analytic voice held an edge to it, which worried John more that anything else in the situation. And considering what he had been through that evening, it was saying something.

"Ghosts don't exist. They just don't", he turned to look at Sherlock, hoping to see the usual "stating the obvious, John"- look on his face. Instead his eyes met an empty hall.

He thought he saw someone walking up the stairs, moving out of sight just before John could properly look. _This is excactly the part where the sidekick goes up the stairs, meets the ghost and gets killed. Well, if this was a movie anyway._

* * *

"Sherlock?", he called, and looked around the dark and unfurnished hall again, before moving his gaze to the stairway again. Silence had never felt this loud.

"I'm here", came a smooth voice from upstairs, sounding as if it came _just_ from the top of the stairs, just where the shadows were so thick John couldn't see if anyone was there.

The relief that took over his body at the sound of the familiar baritone didn't quite overhelm the sensation of _wrong_, that made the hairs on his neck stand up. The voice was too perfect. It lacked something, some undertone that Sherlock's voice had. And the waiting, predatory, malicious silence that followed didn't help at all to calm him down.

The truth was, that there really _ was _something wicked in the house, he had seen it, had_ felt_ it. And he couldn't be sure it was really Sherlock waiting him in the shadows.

* * *

He licked his lips and considered his options. He could stand here, staring at the shadows so hard he started seeing things that weren't there. Or he could go wandering through the door on the left, or_, _John grimaced, he could go through the door on the far end of the hall and go to where he suspected were the stairs leading to the basement.

"Or I can go up the stairs. Right", sighing and fighting his instincts that were screaming for him to run and never stop, he took one careful step towards the stairs.

"Where are you?" His voice broke, betraying his trepidation.

There was no answer, but John was sure he could hear someone breathing just behind him, could _ feel _someone breath right behind him and so he spun, looking behind wildly, fisting his hands and readying himself to either fight or flight.

And there was no one, _nothing_ there.

He let out a long breath and took one step up the stairs backwards, so he could keep an eye on the cold hall.

"John." A deep voice murmured in his ear, so close he could feel the word dropping from the lips gently touching his ear.

His heart was trying to break out of his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Change of plans, there'll be at least one more chapter, I'll probably post it tomorrow.

* * *

**Part 2**

_Run faster honey, I'm on your heels,_

_everything you once were, now belongs to me._

_My lips on your cheek, whisper in your ear,_

_trust me, I'll make it all disappear. _

* * *

John's heartbeat was almost painful in his chest, and he took one short breath in, just realizing he had been holding it. He couldn't hear anything except the rapid pounding of his heart, and the blood running through his veins.

He licked his lips and started to slowly turn around, already dreading what would be there. Fighting the part of him that wanted to run away screaming, or maybe close his eyes and never open them again, he faced the person standing merely inches from him.

And froze, not because he thought it was the smart thing to do, no, but because it was as if he had lost the control of his body. His arms and feet were tingling, feeling weak and he was afraid they would soon betray him and collapse. It was like he was in a nightmare, running away from something, only to notice his legs wouldn't move.

* * *

The person standing in front of him was Sherlock. And still at the same time it wasn't.

It was the perfect copy of his flatmate, and like the voice he'd heard earlier, it was too perfect. Too cold and smooth and inexpressive.

A person who didn't know Sherlock probably wouldn't have seen anything wrong, they would have possibly felt a little creeped out by the cool, passive aggressive, eyes that were the only thing not completely motionless about him. But there was no doubt that this wasn't a perfect doppelganger.

It was unnaturally motionless, just watching John as he stared wide eyed and feeling as if he was trapped in some unreal, terrible dream.

"Sherlock", it wasn't a question. Because there was no way that thing was Sherlock.

And there was no answer, at least not verbal, but the pale eyes seemed to gain a taunting spark in them, gone long before it could even fully emerge.

* * *

John finally gained the control of his body and he took a step back, purely on instinct, not even realizing he did until he stumbled and barely managed to catch himself from falling over.

It just continued staring, eyes following John's every movement, like a predator playing with it's pray.

He backed away until his back touched the wall behind him, and cursed himself for leaving the gun in the flat. He looked briefly away from the thing wearing Sherlock's face and tried to find some way out of the nightmare he was in.

And just as his eyes flickered off it, he saw movement from the corner of his eye.

* * *

And true enough, the thing was one step lower than before, it's head slighly tilted and the gaze now playful. In the _let's play. We both know how this is going to end, and that's excactly why it so fun, _way.

Just to test his theory, originally from some horror movie he had seen as a kid, he looked away, and then back, just catching the thing moving again, going completely frozen when his eyes met it's.

* * *

_This can't be happening. _

But it was, and John felt like crying. Starting to already feel the familiar burn in his eyes, he bit his lip, hoping the pain would keep the tears from falling.

He started moving sideways, towards the door leading to the empty kitchen he and Sherlock had been exploring earlier. For a case, of course.

_Always for a case_, he thought dryly as he slowly inched further away from the thing.

* * *

It just stood there, now turning it's head so it could follow him with it's pale, almost milky eyes.

The smooth, unnatural, owl- like movement of it's neck didn't go unnoticed by John, and he felt nauseous, his legs starting to tremble.

Then it flexed it's neck and wrists and started walking down the stairs smoothly with grace that belonged more to a cat than a human, it's eyes never leaving John.

And so he ran, across the hall and through the door, hearing footsteps pound heavily just behind him, almost on his heels. And as he ran through the open door and slammed it shut behind him, leaning heavily against it, he could still hear the pounding of someone following him close behind.

It took him a while to realize the sound came from his own heart.


End file.
